In the elegant Italian phrase, E giunto il momento della partenza (It's time to leave). For the first time in my career as a writer, I am seriously considering withdrawing from a book, ie, pulling out of the Golden Oriole project. I am not a quitter, and I am not one to shy away from hard work, but I am so demoralised that it hardly seems worthwhile going on. Heaven knows there's no money in it, and the price of any glory to be derived from it is beginning to seem much too high.
I met my former neighbour, Madeleine, in Tesco's the other day. After the usual chitchat, she said a propos of nothing: "Jake, you need a woman." Well, I am not one to pooh pooh a useful suggestion, but I thought, no, right now what I need is a good editor, not the nebbish that I have had to struggle with this last eighteen months.
Anyway, if I do give up the book, I might then give serious consideration to Madeleine's proposition (She was not offering her own services, by the way: she is married to her own particular nebbish). Mind you, it's hard to find a woman nowadays who is smouldering with lust under her pinny for the embraces of an Old Scrote, never mind one with her own tractor.